He grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it away and frantically fumbled at the door. Snatching her bag, she half stumbled out, aware that she’d bought herself precious seconds as Greg was trapped as his door was wedged against the crumpled van.

She saw people staring, bemused faces.

Run!

She dodged past onlookers and ran as fast as she could. Some were filming on their mobile phones but she had no time, no breath to stop and explain.

On she went, back towards the river. Ahead she could see Lambeth Bridge, its iconic red paint glowing in the morning sun. She risked a glance over her shoulder and, to her horror, saw Greg gaining on her. She wouldn’t make it. Jill’s office was too far, and Greg would get to her first.

She dodged down a side street, then another. Lungs heaving, she flung herself behind an industrial waste bin under the railway bridge and tried to catch her breath. A train thundered overhead, and she cursed; she needed to be able to hear if anyone was approaching.

Her phone rang.

Shit! She’d forgotten all about it, the fact Greg could track her. Frantic, she pulled it out of her bag, was about to smash it on the ground, when she saw the screen. It was Tim. She’d risk a few seconds.

‘Tim, I’m under a railway bridge right near Lambeth Bridge. Greg is following me – he did it, he did everything,’ she garbled, as quietly as she could.

‘I know,’ Tim said, urgently. ‘Iris called me.’

‘I need to get to the lawyer’s office in Horseferry Road. It’s so close but I don’t know if I can make it.’

‘Can you see him now?’

‘I don’t know . . . I don’t think so. I need to get off the phone, Tim, he can track me. He’ll find out where I am.’

‘Shit. Head to Horseferry Road. I’m nearby. I’ll come and find you.’

Another train thundered overhead. Kate hung up and, fingers shaking, smashed her phone on the ground. She listened hard but could hear nothing.

Very, very slowly, she crept from behind the bin. The tunnel was narrow and dark, lit by just a few strip lights. To her right, at the end of the tunnel, she could see daylight, the main road. Tentatively at first, she started to walk, then jog towards the light, looking back over her shoulder, but no one was there. When she reached the junction, she looked both ways, but couldn’t see Greg.

She broke into another run, heading towards the river. Soon she was at the bridge and her flagging limbs were energized. Not long now. The Palace of Westminster loomed larger, beckoning her over the bridge. As she ran, she glanced backwards.

He was right behind her.

She let out a howl, nearly stumbled. She had about a hundred metres on him. Faster, you have to go faster. But her legs couldn’t. As she crossed to the other side of the bridge, he’d narrowed the gap to fifty metres. She was on the right road, but the office was further up. Come on.